


Fetish

by voleuse



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-22
Updated: 2004-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They just really, really like shoes.  Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fetish

**Author's Note:**

> BtVS S5 AU. Headings are names of shoes by Steve Madden.

_i. Classie_

Cordelia wakes up slowly, as if from a deep sleep. Something is beeping around her, and when she opens her eyes, she sees the machines. The last thing she remembers is the higher plane, and she wonders if this is the way they sent her down, to a bed in a hospital.

There's something else in her memory, something that she can't quite access, and it feels heavy and dark. She leaves it alone, and reaches for the call button. She's surprised when her hand trembles. She feels weak.

There's a flurry of activity, a doctor, two nurses, and a handful of orderlies sweeping in and staring at her in shock.

Then they get to work, and she finds out what happened to her.

_ii. Broil_

She stays in the hospital for a while, on the doctor's recommendations. Angel growled at that, for a while, but she couldn't lift a glass of water without spilling anything, and she couldn't fight the good fight before getting a full course of physical therapy.

Fred and Lorne arrive one day, all smiles and boxes of things to make her new, gigantic, private room more like home. Pictures, magazines, flowers, chocolate.

Before they leave, Lorne hands her box and grins. "Angelcakes asked me to give this to you."

It's a shoebox, sleek and heavy. She waits until they leave to open it, and gasps when she does.

The toe is pointed, the heel silver and six inches tall. The black leather is cool under her fingers, and underneath the left shoe is a note.

_For when you're better. -- Angel_

_iii. Belise_

Another month, another pair of shoes. She's glad, however, that she can finally wear them, after months of grueling therapy.

Cordelia ties the ankle strap into a bow, draws her fingers over the ruffle of its the sandal. Stands in front of the full length mirror, and admires her calves, finally back to something resembling her previous fitness.

She thinks about what she can do to celebrate.

_iv. Blushing_

With Harmony's help, Cordelia sneaks into Angel's office unannounced. Normally, he would notice her presence, but he doesn't this time. All his attention seems devoted to the pair of shoes displayed on his desk. He seems fascinated by the purple rhinestones that dangle from the ankle straps, that fan like flowers.

"Seriously, Angel," she says, and laughs when he starts. "I know you have good taste, but I draw the line at shoes. Who's buying them?"

He averts his eyes, and she stalks up to the desk until she's directly in front of him, and raises her eyebrows.

He sighs. "Buffy."

"Buffy?"

"I ask her for shoe advice."

Cordelia thinks she should be making fun of Angel, but she thinks back to the shoes she's gotten over the past few months, and she smiles.

_v. Delicate_

Cordelia feels like a model as she tries on the shoes, except a healthy, non-barfy model.

The lucite of its front strap obscures the skin of her toes, and the straps are tight around her ankle. The latest pair, courtesy of Buffy, and Angel makes no pretense now.

She's looking at a phone number, provided by Wesley, and she comes to a decision.

Picks up the phone, and dials the ridiculously long number. Listens to the crackle and the ringing.

Then someone answers.

"Hello, Buffy? It's Cordelia."

_vi. Finito_

It's a short but wandering conversation that boiled down to this: Buffy flying to Los Angeles to go shoe shopping with Cordelia.

Cordelia-of-before might have been ashamed, asking for fashion advice from someone whose record has been hit-and-miss, at best. Cordelia-of-today, however, has been in a coma, and Buffy of today has been living in Italy.

It doesn't take a lot of math to figure out the answer, and Cordelia is in need of an updated wardrobe like nothing else. And as much as she loves Fred, the girl isn't quite up to power shopping, and Harmony isn't up to power shopping during the day.

Ergo, Buffy.

_vii. Lundon_

"They're totally you, Cordy."

The T-strap sandals, flat-soled and studded, remind her of those gladiator movies, but Buffy beams encouragement at her, and Cordelia thinks they're not quite her, except that she could probably kick some serious ass while wearing them. It's difficult to say the same of stiletto pumps.

Then Buffy mimes staking a vampire, and Cordy grins. "My thoughts exactly." She slips the sandals on and imagines swinging a sword, and...

"They're perfect."

They both spin, startled, at Angel standing behind them. He gestures to a hovering salesperson and hands over a credit card. "Whatever they want."

He disappears into the labyrinth that is Southcoast Plaza.

Buffy and Cordelia stay perfectly still for a complete minute.

Buffy giggles. "That was dumb."

"Yup." Cordelia points to the piles of boxes littered on the store's floor. "We'll take them all."

Then they start shopping.

_viii. Bite_

Cordelia eases the zipper of the boots up, slides a hand over the stiletto heel, the metal buttons. They scream dominatrix, she decides, and they're perfect.

Buffy holds her foot out, eyeing the boots, then kicks out to the side. She grins, then rifles through the various packages and bags on Cordelia's sofa, and holds up a little black dress. She sheds her halter top and skirt and slips the dress over her head, then spins. "What do you think?"

"Über-sexy," Cordelia declares. "You should wear it tonight."

Buffy tilts her head. "To where?"

"Wherever." Cordelia drapes herself across the couch. Grins.

_ix. Kaylee_

It's not real snakeskin, Cordelia knows, but she feels sexy (sexier, anyway) as she strolls into the bar, Buffy at her side. She's dressed to the nines, wearing the slinkiest dress they purchased that afternoon, cranberry red and clinging to every curve.

They get the best table in the house, and cover it with tequila shooters and the occasional chocolate mousse.

They're thoroughly tipsy by the time Angel arrives, and he looks at the mess of the table with resignation. "How much did you spend?"

They break into a fit of giggles, and one of them, maybe Cordelia, demands he drive them home.

_x. Tishh_

Somehow, they ended up putting on a fashion show for Angel, under the twisted logic that if he paid for the clothes, so he should see where his money went.

They're still a bit unbalanced from the giggling and the alcohol, so for the more difficult footwear, Angel has to lend a helping hand.

Cordelia presents her left foot to Angel, and Buffy leans behind her so neither of them fall. He buckles each of the four ankle straps with reverence, pauses after each one to slide a hand under the arch of her foot, encased in turquoise and silver.

Cordelia shivers as he traces the bones of her foot, then her ankle, and Buffy gasps behind her. Slides her hands up until they're just below Cordelia's breasts.

They draw closer together, then, and she's trapped between them. She moans as they undress her, as first their hands, large and small, and then mouths, cover her body.

They leave her shoes on.


End file.
